


ok, love is a little strong

by aeio



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, but in the best way, minsung - Freeform, they're both hopelessly awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeio/pseuds/aeio
Summary: Don't look,he tells himself.This isn't a drama. He's not going to be staring back at you through the rain.But of course he doesn't listen to himself. He looks, and of course,of course—Jisung is staring back.(or, minho falls hopelessly in love with his new neighbor)
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 25
Kudos: 274
Collections: MINSUNG FICATHON: Round One; 2020





	ok, love is a little strong

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [minsung ficathon!](http://twitter.com/minsungficathon)
> 
> prompt#A045
> 
> Neighbors AU  
> (951):  
> Ok love is a little strong. But he consented to nachos, beer and board game date with my cats. keeper.

"Hey, do you wanna grab drinks after work?"

Minho's eyes flit towards the clock on the wall as he stretches in his office chair, lifting his arms towards the ceiling and earning a satisfying little _crack_ from his shoulder. It's 5:03 PM. 

"Nah," he says.

Hyunjin pouts at him from the opposite desk. 

"That's like the _third_ time you've rejected me in two weeks," he whines. His glasses slide low on his nose and Minho can't help the fond smile that spreads across his face. Hyunjin can be cute sometimes, but only when he's not trying. 

"Sorry, sorry," Minho says, and he means it. "I just. I don't know. I don't have any energy lately, you know?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're just avoiding me. _And_ Changbin."

Hyunjin's voice is gentle, but the words still sting, and Minho screws up his face in an expression of fake disgust to mask his feelings. "Yeah, your PDA is sapping my will to live."

"Minho, come on." 

There's another witty retort on the tip of Minho's tongue, but he bites it back. He can tell when Hyunjin wants to be serious. 

"I mean, a little? I'm happy for you guys, don't get me wrong. But…" Minho sighs and slumps down in his chair. "My childhood best friend and my fellow-office-drone-turned-other-best-friend are dating now, so like, where does that leave me?" 

Changbin would have just smacked Minho's shoulder and told him he was being dramatic. But Hyunjin's eyes go soft, and Minho can almost _see_ the empathy pouring out of them. Hyunjin's just like that. He _feels,_ all the time, intensely and out of control, even if the feelings aren't his own.

"Oh, Minho…" Hyunjin says miserably. He looks like he's about to cry, and the ridiculousness of it snaps Minho out of his reverie of self-pity. He laughs.

"I'll be fine, Hyunnie." He flicks a paperclip over their cubicle divider that Hyunjin has to duck to avoid. "I'm just letting you guys cool down from your honeymoon phase. I know you won't _abandon_ me or anything depressing like that."

He grins up at Hyunjin across their desks. "Besides, you're both so damn clingy I doubt I could get rid of you even if I tried."

"You're right," Hyunjin sniffs. "You'll never get rid of us. Dummy."

And what started out as Hyunjin trying to comfort Minho ends as it always does, with Minho making little witty quips to distract Hyunjin from bursting out into tears in the middle of their office. Minho promises to get dinner with the two of them next week, and by the time they clock out Hyunjin is his goofy, smiling self again.

Minho waves goodbye when they exit the elevator, smiling a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes, but Hyunjin is already walking away and Minho is left with a hollowness in his chest. Something that's not quite sadness, not quite jealousy, but something that aches nonetheless. 

And of course, as he steps out into the summer evening, it begins to rain.

By the time he reaches his own block the rain has slowed, but Minho is soaked. His shoes squelch unpleasantly with every step.

When he rounds the corner to his building, the first thing he sees is a moving van.

The second thing he sees is a young man, struggling with one of those moving carts— _a dolly,_ his mind supplies— that's piled high with a stack of now-soggy cardboard boxes. He's trying to kick it back to wheel it away, but the man is small, and he can't seem to get it. _"Fuck!"_ he shouts. 

The sight is equal parts funny and pathetic, and against his better judgement, Minho slows to a stop. 

"Need help?"

The young man jumps and spins around to face Minho, eyes wide. He's wearing a huge, oversized hoodie with _Thrasher_ written in flaming text on the front of it. "Oh, my god. Sorry. I didn't mean to shout," he babbles, clearly panicking. "It's just, like, wet, and—"

Without waiting for the other person to finish, Minho wipes some of the rain out of his eyes with his sleeve and easily kicks the dolly back onto its wheels. "Where do you want it?" he asks. 

The young man just stares at him, mouth open, eyes wide. 

Minho raises an eyebrow, and as he waits for an answer, he notices that the man's front tooth is just a tiny bit crooked. It's cute. And so are his puffy cheeks, and his round eyes, and the strands of bottle-blonde hair plastered to his forehead by the rain.

"Umm…" Minho shifts. "Hello?"

Finally the man seems to snap back to reality and realizes that he's standing in the rain, gaping at a stranger. Minho would laugh at him, but for both of their sakes, he keeps his amusement to himself. He gets the feeling that any more movement on his part might scare the other man away, like startling a squirrel in the park. 

"Sorry! Um! Yeah, I— I'm moving in over there." The man points to the building next to Minho's. "The— the second floor apartment."

Minho hums and starts pushing the dolly towards the building. It's not exactly easy, but it's nothing he can't handle.

"Do you need help getting them inside?" he asks when they're in front of the building, under the safety of the front porch roof. The street is filled with historical row houses, some of them grand and expensive single-family homes, but most of them split into apartments like this one. 

"No, no, oh my god, I couldn't ask you to do that," the young man says, moving his hands frantically. "You've done enough. Seriously. My friend is coming over to help soon, he just got a little delayed in traffic and I didn't expect to be caught in the rain…"

"Okay." Minho is secretly relieved. The man is cute, but he really didn't want to spend his evening running boxes up and down the stairs. "Good luck, new neighbor!" 

"N-neighbor?"

"Yeah. I live next door." Minho points to the house to the right, the ivory one with the huge bay windows. "Second floor."

"Oh. Wow. Cool. Um, thanks for your help." 

Minho is distracted now. He's tired of being wet, and all he can think of is getting to his apartment and stripping out of his soaked clothes. "Uh-huh. Bye, now." He raises his hand in a motionless wave. 

"Uh- yeah! Bye!"

When he gets to his own door, he pauses for a moment. _Don't look,_ he tells himself. _This isn't a drama. He's not going to be staring back at you through the rain._

But of course he doesn't listen to himself. He looks, and of course, _of course—_ the wide-eyed young man is staring back.

Heat rises in his cheeks, and before he can make any more of a fool of himself, Minho hastens through the door and slams it behind him.

Over the next few days, Minho watches his neighbor move in. Not in a creepy way— it's just that Minho's bedroom faces the street, and the giant bay windows give him a clear view of everything going on below. 

"What's going on down there, tiny little bear?" Minho scratches Dori behind the ears and sinks into the armchair by the window. It's an old, mustard-colored velvet armchair, and it's about a hundred times more comfortable than it has a right to be considering how ugly it looks. He got it from Changbin's sister when she kicked her cheating girlfriend out two years ago and listed all of her leftover possessions on the free curbside pickup app— something about the horrible color mixed with the equally horrible backstory just grabbed him, and now it's his favorite reading chair. 

Dori yawns and stretches a paw out. It dangles elegantly off the ledge of the long windowsill and Minho just admires it for a moment. Dori is a regal little cat when he's not being an absolute terror. 

_"Yes, this way please!"_

Voices from the street drift into his room, muted and muffled through the glass of the windows. Minho looks down and sees his new neighbor leading a handyman into his building. 

The young man looks decidedly different when he's not soaking wet. His hair is fluffy and bouncy, and he keeps shaking his head to get it out of his eyes. His big, round eyes. _Those_ haven't changed, and Minho smiles absentmindedly to himself. Dori paws, the cute eyes of his neighbor— he takes pleasure in the simple things. 

And then suddenly, those eyes— big, curious, and beautifully brown— flit up towards the window, and lock with Minho's own.

 _"Shit,"_ Minho hisses, hopping out of the chair so fast it scares Dori away. The cat uses Minho's arm as a springboard and leaves a deep, long scratch that wells up with beads of blood immediately. 

Minho makes a beeline for his bed, which is the only space in the room out of sight of the window, and sinks down onto the unmade sheets, heart racing. "Fuck," he breathes. 

Dori lets out a long _mrreow_ and gives Minho a reproachful look from the floor. "Sorry, kitten baby," Minho says. He often talks to his cats when nobody is around, and he doesn't care how silly he sounds. It's not like they're going to judge him.

From the safety of his bed, Minho steals a glance back at the windows. He can't see much from this angle, but it seems like his neighbor and the handyman have retreated inside the house. 

_At least we don't have windows facing each other,_ Minho thinks to himself. _That_ would be awkward. 

He's careful to avoid the bay windows for the rest of the day, but his neighbor's gaze lingers in his mind for far longer than he cares to admit. 

According to the clock, which Minho has been staring at for the past five minutes, it's 3:07 PM. Minho is bored, and time feels frozen— so he twirls a pen in his hand, and speaks up over his monitor. 

"A cute guy moved in next door."

He can hear Hyunjin sputter across the desk and then grab a tissue, presumably to wipe up the coffee he just spit all over his keyboard. Minho smirks to himself, satisfied with the response. It's exactly what he expected. 

"What?"

Minho rolls his eyes dramatically, pretending to be annoyed. "Exactly what I said, dumbass. A guy, who happens to be very annoyingly cute, moved in literally next door to me."

Hyunjin perks up, and Minho can practically see his imaginary tale wagging.

"Yeah? How did you meet him? How old is he? What does he look like?"

"Oh my god, stop," Minho says, even though inside he's secretly burning to talk about it. This is how their relationship goes: Hyunjin is over-eager for attention, and Minho pretends to hate indulging him even though he actually loves it. It's perfect. 

"Remember how it was raining on Thursday?"

"No." 

Minho scowls. "Hyunjin, right when we left work, it started pouring. I got soaked."

His co-worker just tilts his head, face still irritatingly blank. 

"Ugh, whatever. Well it did. Rain, I mean. And when I got to my block, there was this guy loading a bunch of boxes on one of those wheeled carts, but it was basically stacked as tall as he was so he couldn't get it up."

"Heh. That's what she—"

Minho fixes Hyunjin with a death glare and the other man instantly shut his mouth. "Anyway, the boxes were getting soaked, so I offered to help him get it to the house, and it turned out he was moving into the building right next to mine."

Hyunjin put his chin in his hand, face absolutely glowing with glee. "You don't usually go for guys smaller than you."

"Yeah, well— _hey,_ I'm not ' _going for him_.' I just said he was cute!"

"Mmhmm. Keep going."

"That's it." Minho leans back in his chair and sighs. "There's no more."

Hyunjin looks personally wounded. "What do you mean, that's it? What's his name? What does he do?!"

Minho shrugs. He's been wondering the same things, ever since that rainy day. "I don't know. I haven't actually talked to him since that first time."

"What! _Minho!_ Go bake that boy some goddamn cookies or something! Be neighborly!"

"I'm not gonna _bake him cookies!_ " Their other co-workers are starting to side-eye them now, so Minho pretends to work, clicking around in his inbox, and lowers his voice. "This isn't fucking 1950, Hyunjin. That's just creepy."

"My neighbor made me cookies when I moved in."

"Yeah, exactly, your neighbor is like _eighty."_

Hyunjin just huffs and stares at Minho over top of their computer screens, thick eyebrows drawn together in fierce concentration. Hyunjin lives for stuff like this. "How else are you going to get to know him?"

"Hyunnie, I don't even know anything _about_ him. He could be a college student, or a total douchebag. Or even worse, _straight."_

"Yeah, but on the other hand he couldbe twenty-something, smart, funny, _and_ queer. You never know!"

This is exactly why he likes talking to Hyunjin. His friend always says what Minho is thinking, but is too embarrassed or sensible to admit out loud. 

Minho _is_ interested in the person next door. He's cute and weirdly charming, and Minho can't stop thinking about the stranger's gaze meeting his own through the rain. And then again through the window. 

_Does he think about me?_ Minho feels stupid wondering. He feels like a hopelessly head-over-heels high schooler knee-deep in their first crush, and he hates how quickly these questions make his heart beat. 

"I'm probably never going to run into him again," Minho says stubbornly. "He's just cute, is all."

"I'm telling you, just bake him—"

Wordlessly, Minho pulls a tissue from the box on his desk and waves it in the air, a threateningly blank look on his face.

Hyunjin shuts his mouth with a tiny _eep_ , and they pass the rest of the afternoon in silence.

"Hi!"

Minho blinks and rubs his eyes. He must be seeing things— because it _looks_ like his new neighbor is waiting on Minho's front steps, a prettily wrapped box in his hands.

"Um, hi," Minho says cautiously. He doesn't mean to sound so apprehensive, but he's still not convinced this is real. 

His neighbor gets to his feet, bouncing on them slightly, and beams up at Minho. He looks simultaneously nervous and cocky, and Minho has never seen anything quite like it. 

"I wanted to say thank you for helping me the other day," his neighbor says. "I'm Jisung, by the way."

"Jisung," Minho repeats. Something about this person— something about his energy, and his giant, heart-shaped smile— is throwing Minho off balance, and he's finding it hard to form words. "I'm Minho."

"Minho! Cool." Jisung shuffles around a bit and holds the box out to Minho. "I, uh, brought you cookies."

 _Oh, my god._ "Oh, my god." He doesn't mean to say it out loud, but there it goes.

Jisung's jittery bravado fades and he looks concerned. "Do you not like cookies…?"

 _Fuck._ It's been a _long_ time since Minho has panicked this much because of a pretty face. He thought he'd grown up, grown out of that. Apparently not. 

"I love cookies," he says with a high-pitched giggle. _God, just shoot me now._ "Who doesn't love cookies?" He takes the proffered box and inspects it. "Did you make them?"

Jisung puffs his cheeks out. "No. I don't really bake. Or anything, really. I mean— I cook, I can make rice and stuff—"

He's rambling, and Minho uses it as an excuse to just _look_ at him. Jisung's features are so— so what? Minho can't quite put his finger on it, but there's something mesmerizing about Jisung's face. Like his features are all beautiful, but something about the way they're arranged makes him look _interesting_ instead of just plain gorgeous.

As Minho ponders the meaning of beauty in relation to this unusual little human, he suddenly realizes that Jisung has stopped talking. Minho didn't hear a word, and immediately switches over to full panic mode. 

"Hey!" he says, voice just an octave or two too loud. "Um, I'm— I'm having a party this weekend." 

He is _,_ in fact, _not_ having a party this weekend. 

"I mean— not a party, really. I don't have parties." His brain is screaming at himself to shut up, but his mouth just keeps going. "Just like, a chill thing with some friends. I don't know if you're new to the area or whatever, but if you want—"

"Yes!"

Minho blinks. Jisung's hand is on his arm. His hand— stubby-fingered, adorned with probably a few too many rings, golden and beautiful and warm— on Minho's _arm_ , touching Minho's skin— how does breathing work again?

"You— you _are_ asking me to go, right?" Jisung looks a little confused again, and you know, Minho doesn't fucking blame him. All he's done for the past two minutes is stand here like a dumbass, getting lost in Jisung's eyes and not paying attention to a single word his neighbor has said. It's a wonder Jisung doesn't think he's an idiot at this point, honestly— so Minho just decides to be honest. 

"Sorry, it's hard to function when a cute guy is standing on your doorstep with cookies, you know?" He flashes his best grin at Jisung, who is now the one looking flustered.

"This Saturday, 8pm. My house. Which is… right here." He winks— or attempts to. He can never close just one eye, but Hyunjin and Changbin have both told him it's cute, so he goes with it. "See you there, neighbor!"

And with a confidence he doesn't quite feel like he deserves right now, he plucks Jisung's hand from his arm, gives it a little squeeze, and then steps past Jisung to his front door. He manages to put the key in the lock on the first try (thank god), and just as his heart threatens to beat its way out of his chest, the door swings mercifully open and he's inside. 

**cutie crew (3)**

6:12 PM

 **leeminnope** : I HOPE YOU DONT HAVE PLANS ON SATURDAY BECAUSE YOU'RE BOTH COMING OVER

6:13 PM

 **leeminnope** : AND BRING FRIENDS

In two hours, he has a fully organized "get-together" (read: not a party) with exactly six people: Hyunjin, Changbin, Changbin's sister and her boyfriend, and Hyunjin's friend Jeongin. Minho didn't really want Changbin's sister to bring her boyfriend because Changbin gets weirdly jealous around everyone she dates, but apparently they're a packaged deal now. 

"I'm not _whipped,"_ Minho hisses into the empty aisle of the grocery store, tossing another bag of chips into his cart. He hates potato chips. 

_"You cannot even say those words with a straight face, you lying twat."_

Changbin's voice is small and tinny through the airpods in Minho's ears, but Minho hears the insult loud and clear. He huffs and throws the next bag in extra hard. 

"Whatever. Wine or beer?"

_"Hyojin and Hyunjin hate beer. Get wine."_

"And you call _me_ whipped. What if Jisunglikes beer? He kind of looks like a frat boy."

_"A frat boy?! You better not be trying to hook up with a college student, Minho, I swear to god—"_

"Oh, my god! You're disgusting!" Minho realizes he's close to yelling, and goes back to hissing under his breath. "At least, I don't _think_ he is. What kind of college student has their own apartment in the Crescent? He does look a little younger than me, though…"

As he plucks a few bottles of cab sauv from the shelf, he gets an idea. "Ok. That's your mission, Binnie. You and Hyunjin have to find out everything you can about him on Saturday."

_"Oooh. Sneaky. I like it. Leave it to us!"_

"That means you can't just glue yourself to Hyojin all night."

A little puff of air comes through his headphones and he _knows_ Changbin just pouted. He can picture his friend's face perfectly in his head. 

_"Fine. Just for you, bestie."_

"Love you, Bin."

_"Love you too, bro. See you tomorrow."_

In defiance, Minho grabs a case of Blue Moon from the bottom shelf before making his way to the register. 

For the third time in ten minutes, Minho pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor with a huff. 

He glares at his closet, suddenly deeply unhappy with every single piece of clothing he owns. _Why didn't I go shopping with Changbin last weekend when he asked me?_ The sea of black tees and dark blue button-ups and occasional colorful cardigan stares back at him, quietly judgemental.

With a click of his tongue, he yanks a plain white tee from its hanger and starts to pull it on while he walks to his desk where his phone is charging— but something outside the window catches his eye, and he pauses, mid-change, chest bare.

Jisung is standing on the street, staring straight up at him. 

The last time this happened, Minho had panicked. But not now. Now, he takes a moment— a nice, slow, moment— to finish pulling the shirt over his head. Then he looks back at Jisung— and _waves._

His little stunt has the desired effect. Jisung looks absolutely flustered down on the street— the paper grocery bag slips out of his arms and he scrambles to catch it, a blush flaring across his face. He looks back up at the window and gives a sheepish little wave, and everything about his face says he was caught in the act and he knows it.

 _Good,_ Minho thinks with satisfaction. At least his panic isn't one-sided. 

By 8:45, Minho's apartment is alive with the noises of too many people squeezed into too small a space, and the air is humming with voices carried on alcohol-scented breath. 

Changbin is nestled between Hyojin and Hyunjin on the small couch and looking very happy about it. Hyojin's boyfriend has been relegated to the floor next to the couch, looking far less thrilled. Jeongin is lounging back against Minho's pink Muji poof, and Minho himself is in the kitchen, pouring himself another glass of wine. 

Everyone is here, except Jisung. 

Minho is long past the _'beginning to worry'_ stage and is now waffling somewhere in between _'maybe he's just late,'_ and _'he totally hates me'_ when finally— there's a knock at the door. 

The entire apartment goes silent, and five pairs of eyes land on Minho. He groans inwardly, knowing that this means Changbin probably spilled the beans to his sister, and now every single person in this room knows he's crushing on the person on the other side of the door. "Don't all get up at once," he grumbles, cheeks reddening.

 _Okay._ Hand on the doorknob, he takes a deep breath, and then pulls open the door. 

He expects to be nervous, but when he sees Jisung's face on the other side of the door, all of his nerves disappear.

Jisung's face is flushed, but he's smiling, and for a moment all Minho can do is take him in. Jisung's smile is heart-shaped, showing off his gums and slightly crooked teeth unashamedly, and when he smiles his cheeks seem even fuller and his usually round eyes crinkle into little half-moons.

It leaves Minho _breathless._

"Hi," he says. "Glad you could make it."

"Hi." Jisung bounces on the balls of his feet. "I'm late because I was nervous. Sorry." 

"It's okay." Minho doesn't make a big deal out of it, because it's not. He gets it. 

He's a little nervous, too.

"Beer or wine?" he asks, stepping aside so Jisung can come in. "I mean, uh— you _are_ old enough to drink, right?"

Jisung laughs. It sounds like sunshine after a rainy day, and Minho's apartment suddenly feels ten times brighter. "I'm 22," Jisung says. "Beer, please."

 _Knew it._ Minho smiles in secret triumph, and then they're at the entrance to the living room. 

"Everyone, this is Jisung. Jisung, these are my friends." He points them out. "Changbin, my childhood bestie, Hyunjin, my work bestie who stole Changbin away from me, Changbin's sister Hyojin, her boyfriend—" his brain blanks. Jonathan? Jeremiah? Some white guy name even though he's very clearly first generation Korean-American, but Minho isn't really sure so his finger slides over to Jeongin— "and Jeongin, who I met for the very first time today but seems very nice and charming."

"Do you always invite people you don't know to your parties?" Jisung asks, in a tone that makes it clear he's joking to the room. Everyone laughs, and Minho is glad. It's a comfortable kind of laughter; the sound of meeting a new person and deciding you like them enough to laugh. It's good. 

"Hey, you never know who's gonna be your next best friend," Minho deadpans. "And since both of mine are dating each other now, I'm in the market."

More laughter. Minho grabs Jisung a beer, and they settle in for games around Minho's coffee table. 

First up is Avalon, which is lots of fun when everyone gets the hang of it but gets thrown in the end when Changbin refuses to believe his sister is on the evil team and ends up losing them the game. After that they're mostly tipsy enough to play Contact, a game that has them screaming at one another in minutes. 

While they play, Minho watches Jisung. 

It seems like he's having a good time. He nurses his beer slowly, the flush on his face growing more and more red, leading Minho to believe that he probably had a shot of liquid courage before he came over. 

In the downtime between turns, he sees Hyunjin lavishing Jisung with attention. Hyunjin is an excellent host, even two glasses of wine in, and Jisung visibly relaxes as they talk. Changbin even tears his attention away from his sister towards the end of the night to talk with Jisung, too, and Minho can see his neighbor admiring the charismatic couple. As much as Minho complains about it, Hyunjin and Changbin have a magnetism about them— like they have their own little world together, a world others can only glimpse through their smiles and soft touches. 

And when Minho looks at them together like that, smiling and flushed and _happy,_ well— it kind of makes him believe that true love is real. 

Hyojin and her boyfriend are the first to leave. They say their goodbyes around midnight, and as the door _clicks_ shut behind them, Minho notices Jisung checking his watch. _Wow, he actually wears a watch._

"Jisung," he says suddenly, brain lagging a bit behind his mouth and therefore ten times more brave than he would be otherwise, "Let me walk you home."

Jisung's eyes go round. "Oh— um, it's okay, it's just next door…" 

But he's looking at Minho, and their eyes lock, and Minho doesn't know exactly why but he feels like he can sense meaning in Jisung's gaze. "I don't mind," he prompts again, but gently, leaving room for Jisung to turn him down if that's what he really wants. 

Instead, a smile spreads over Jisung's face, and he hops to his feet. "Okay," he agrees. "Thanks." Then, after a moment of hesitation, he shyly holds out his hand, like he's expecting Minho to take it.

Of course, Minho does.

"Well?!"

"What happened? Did you kiss?!"

Minho fends off his two friends at the door and pushes his way into his apartment. Jeongin is still there, and gives him a sheepish wave and a shrug that seems to say, _I tried, but you're on your own._

He falls onto the sofa with a soft _flump,_ and buries his face in his hands. Hyunjin and Changbin are on him in an instant, talking over one another and pulling at Minho's hands.

"Did he give you the cheek—"

"Did you miss—"

" _Minho,_ come on—"

"Not to be dramatic—" this is Hyunjin— "but I need to know or I will die right here on your couch."

"I chickened out," Minho says at last. 

Changbin screeches and Hyunjin gasps so loud it sounds like he's choking. He grabs Minho and shakes him. "You _idiot,_ come on, he _obviously_ liked you, he was staring at you _all_ night—"

 _"But,"_ Minho goes on, shoving Hyunjin off of him, "... he did kiss _me."_

Both of his friends full-on scream. Even Jeongin lets out a little gasp from the floor. 

"I'm _screaming,"_ Hyunjin says, clutching at his chest. 

"I know," Minho says dryly. "I literally heard you."

"Tell us _exactly_ what happened!"

Minho shrugs, but he can feel his cheeks heating up at the memory. His lips still feel warm from Jisung's kiss. "I don't know," he says. "We were standing there, after we said good night, and I could tell he was waiting for me to do something… but I was like, frozen, you know? And then… he just put his hands on my shoulders, and he kissed me."

Hyunjin and Changbin let out twin _awww'_ s. "I want to be the best man at your wedding," Hyunjin says. His eyes are sparkling— until Changbin starts to protest. 

"I've known him way longer! I get to be the best man!"

"Shut _up,_ both of you," Minho groans. "Besides, if anything, _I'm_ going to be the best man at _your_ wedding."

That does shut them up. Changbin and Hyunjin both blush, acting uncharacteristically shy, and that's how Minho manages to usher them out of his apartment, with Jeongin in tow.

"It was nice to meet you, Innie. Come over again sometime, okay?" 

Jeongin smiles and nods as he pulls the door shut behind him, and then Minho is finally alone again, his apartment ringing with the loud silence that hangs around after a night filled with the noise of other people. 

He strips off his clothes and falls into bed, clutching his giant pink stuffed pig to his chest. He replays the kiss in his head and gets so worked up he presses his face into the stuffed animal and yells. It feels good to let it out.

When his heartbeat returns to normal he splays there on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Right now, less than ten feet and a couple of brick walls away, Jisung is somewhere in his own second-floor apartment. _Is he thinking about me? Is his heart racing, too?_

Minho doesn't know. But he hopes. 

He hopes he's not alone.

The next week is far less exciting than Minho hoped it would be. Every day he rushes out of the house and then rushes back home after work, hoping to run into Jisung. But by the time Wednesday rolls around and they haven't so much as glimpsed one another through the window, Minho loses hope.

"He hates me," he whines, head pillowed in Changbin's lap. They're at Changbin's stupidly fancy apartment uptown— Changbin had bribed Minho over by ordering delivery from his favorite sushi place. 

"He does not hate you," Changbin says. He pats Minho's head. "It's only been four days."

"Four days of my soul slowly seeping out into the dirt."

"God, you are so dramatic. You sound like Hyunjin."

Minho twists in Changbin's lap so he's looking up at his friend, and puts on his best puppy dog eyes. "Does that mean you love me now?"

"I always love you, dummy."

"Good."

Even though nothing has really changed, Minho feels better, and he sits up, popping a slice of hamachi into his mouth with chopsticks. There are a million explanations for why Jisung hasn't been around lately. Maybe he's sick. _I hope he has soup._

A lightbulb goes off in his head. "I'm gonna bring him cookies."

"What?" Changbin says, except it's all garbled. He has three rolls of sushi in his mouth right now, his little lips pursed trying to contain it all. 

"Cookies. He brought me cookies on Friday to thank me for helping him move." Minho's mind is whirring, formulating his plan. "I'll bring him cookies to thank him. For, uh… for his cookies..."

"That logic is non-existent, bro."

"Yeah, well, whatever. I need an excuse to see him!"

Changbin squints at him. "Do you, though? He kissed you! Your excuse can be, 'Hi, you're a good kisser, let's do that again.'"

Minho punches Changbin on the arm, and they squabble for a moment on the couch, both giggling at the familiarity of play fighting. It makes Minho think of high school and his grandma's cooking, and two school uniforms laying crumpled on his bedroom floor.

"So what did you guys find out about him the other night?"

Changbin downs the rest of his beer in one gulp, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His belly is round and full underneath his shirt, and at one point Minho would have poked it teasingly, but not now. They're getting a little too old for that— and it feels weird, somehow, knowing those kinds of moments belong to Hyunjin now. Not Minho. Not anymore.

"He just graduated last year. And now he does, like, translating I think? For webcomics or something."

Minho's heart melts in his chest. "God, that's so nerdy." He slumps down on the couch. "I love it."

"Yeah. And he loves cheesecake."

Minho snorts. "That's pretty specific."

"I mean, he said it like five times. He also talked a lot about cheetahs…" Changbin picks stray grains of rice from the plastic sushi takeout tray and pops them in his mouth absentmindedly. "He's kinda weird, bro."

"Weird and cute."

Changbin's eyes widen like he's just had an epiphany. "God, that's just your type." 

Minho groans. "I _know."_

His friend looks at him then, and after a few moments seems to come to a conclusion. "Okay. Forget the cookies. Let's plan a magical cheesecake delivery and get you your weird cheetah boy."

If it were anyone else, Minho would have snorted and brushed them off. But not Changbin. Minho knows that his friend is serious. "You're the best," he says, trying at least to keep his eyes from watering like they're threatening to.

"I know. Okay. So, he likes Americano too, right, so—"

The next morning, Minho wakes up early. He goes to the little cafe a few blocks away, the one run by the nice old Greek lady and her exceptionally cute daughter, and picks out two slices of cheesecake and two Americanos to go. The daughter comments on the double order and asks him if it's for someone special.

"It is, actually," he says, warmth blooming in his chest and on his cheeks. This giddiness makes him feel like he's in high school again, ready to confess. Ready for what lays ahead. 

The daughter beams at him and says something to her mother that Minho doesn't understand, and moments later the cheesecake is in a fancier takeout box, wrapped with a pretty little bow. They slide it across the counter to him, twittering happily together, and Minho can't keep the smile off his face, all the way back home.

It's nearly 8:30 AM, and he's standing in front of Jisung's house.

He doesn't feel nervous, which is strange considering the fact that he's about to knock on a (basically) stranger's door to deliver post-kiss cheesecake. By all accounts and purposes he should be sweaty-palms level shaking right now— but he's not.

There's something _right_ about this. Minho can feel it all around him— in the perfect, sunny weather; in the joy from the bakery ladies; even in the way that Jisung's door is swinging open before Minho even knocks—

Wait. _What?_

"Shit— I think I left my charger in your room," says this— this _guy,_ this intimidating, stocky-looking guy who's standing in Jisung's doorway, rummaging around in a duffle bag. A _duffle bag._ Like the bag Minho used to bring to Changbin's house when he was staying the night.

Minho hears Jisung's voice from somewhere inside. "Do you need it?" Jisung asks. His voice gets louder as he speaks, like he's walking towards the door. "Or do you just wanna grab it next time?"

"I'll just get it next time. I'm gonna be late for work."

Finally the guy looks up from his bag and spots Minho, who's just standing there on the sidewalk, staring. Like an idiot.

The guy frowns in confusion, then speaks behind him. "Ji, I think someone's, uh, here for you…?"

Jisung's head pops around the door frame. His hair is messy, like he just woke up, and when he steps forward Minho can see he's only dressed in boxers and a hoodie. 

"Minho!" Jisung says. Minho can't read his tone. Hell, he can barely hear Jisung's voice over how loudly his heart is pounding in his chest. 

And _now_ the nerves start. They crash down on him so hard he feels his knees nearly give out, and there's blood rushing to his face and sweat covering his palms and just _fuck._

"Is.. that for me?" Jisung points at the Americano in Minho's hand. 

Minho opens his mouth. Then he closes it again, entirely unsure of how to form words. What is he supposed to say? He's holding _two_ fucking cups of coffee, and he's standing on Jisung's doorstep. Of course it's fucking for him. But how is he supposed to say that in front of the man who apparently spent the night at Jisung's apartment? In his _room?_ And— Minho finally looks at him, and his heart sinks, because this guy is wearing Jisung's hoodie. The Thrasher one, the one Jisung was wearing when he first moved in that day in the rain. 

"I—"

They're both looking at him. He can't breathe. _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—_

"Yeah," he says, but his voice is all flat and wrong. He walks up the three brick steps to Jisung's doorway, elbowing past the stranger and thrusting the cake and one of the Americanos into Jisung's hands. "To thank you for the cookies. Now we're even."

He doesn't look at Jisung's face as he turns and walks away. In fact, he thinks he never wants to see Jisung's face ever again.

When he makes it to his own door, he can hear Jisung and the stranger whispering to each other. He knows it's about him, and when he closes the door, he's pretty sure they hear it slam.

"You don't _know_ they're together."

It's 8:00 PM, almost a whole 12 hours after the most mortifying moment of his life. He's sprawled out on the floor of his bedroom, and Changbin and Hyunjin are both sitting with him, alternating between patting him supportively on the back and feeding him tiny bits of leftover charcuterie that Changbin brought from the bougie happy hour at his office. 

Minho lifts his head and glares at Hyunjin. "He was leaving Jisung's _apartment_ , Hyunnie. At eight thirty in the fucking morning. And he was wearingJisung's _hoodie!"_

"Maybe it's his hoodie, not Jisung's," Changbin offers.

"That's worse!" Minho sits up. "That means they've been together since we _met!"_

"But he _kissed_ you," Hyunjin says miserably. He's almost taking this worse than Minho.

"I know," Minho says. It makes him feel sick. "I know."

"Min…" Changbin takes hold of Minho's hands, and he's looking at Minho in that _way_ of his. That way he gets when he drops the loud, silly exterior he wears, when he wants to talk about something serious. "I think you're jumping to conclusions here."

"How—"

 _"Listen._ I know what it looks like. But— I don't know, Jisung didn't seem like the type of person who would come to your party and kiss you goodnight if he already had a boyfriend."

"You talked to him for like, an _hour._ Max."

"An hour is a long time! He seemed sweet, Minho. And he seemed to _really_ like you."

"Well, he has a funny way of showing it," Minho grumbles. He doesn't want to listen to Changbin be rational right now. What he _wants_ is to drown his sorrows in a glass of pinot noir and feel sorry for himself, and for his friends to reassure him about how horrible everything is.

"Okay, okay," Changbin says with a sigh, passing Minho a rusk smeared with brie and jam. "You're right. I can't believe him."

Minho sniffles and stuffs the cracker in his mouth. Hyunjin passes him his glass of wine and Minho washes it down, hoping he looks as sad and pathetic as he feels. And even though everything sucks and he hates his life right now, there's a small part of him that's glad he has two best friends to suffer through it with him.

Minho is surprised, over the next two weeks, at just how easy it is to avoid someone— if you try hard enough.

He stops looking out the window; stops going to the cafe. He goes to work, then comes home. He third wheels with Hyunjin and Changbin, which isn't as bad as he thought it was going to be, and he changes his coffee order from Americano to cold brew. 

And just like that, life goes on. 

"Minho!"

He freezes at the familiar-yet-foreign voice, in the middle of pulling his card from his pocket. _Stupid,_ he curses himself. He'd been craving the custard bread they served at the Greek cafe all week— and he figured, since he'd never actually _seen_ Jisung here, it should be safe—

Except, it's not. Because Jisung is standing right behind him. 

The sight of him after two weeks makes Minho's breath catch. Everything about him is soft and round, from his fluffy blonde hair to his turned-in Converse. He's smiling up at Minho, showing his crooked tooth, and Minho feels so fucking fond of him his heart aches with it.

But he's wearing that hoodie, and Minho remembers the crushing disappointment of that morning and the joy just disappears, replaced by something cold and dark and ugly.

Minho puts on a vaguely confused face. "Oh, hey. Uh, Jason, right?"

He regrets it the second it's out of his mouth. 

Jisung looks crestfallen. His cheerful, bright smile is gone, and he starts brushing his bangs out of his face over and over again, staring at the floor. "Um… Jisung. It's… Jisung." 

_Minho Lee, you are an asshole._

"I know." He moves away from the register and pulls Jisung with him, grabbing his hands. They're rough and warm. "Jisung, I know. I'm sorry."

Jisung looks confused, and still hurt. "Wh—"

"Look…" Minho sighs. How does he even begin to start to explain? "Do you have a minute? Do you want to… grab a coffee?" He gulps. "With me?"

Silence. Minho holds his breath. One second, two, three—

"Okay. Sure."

Five minutes later, Minho approaches the small table where Jisung is sitting with two slices of cheesecake and two Americanos. 

"How did you know I liked these?" Jisung asks after a few bites, cheeks already full of cake.

"My friends told me. Apparently you talked about it a lot at the party."

Jisung reddens. "I talk a lot when I drink."

"It's cute."

His blush deepens and Minho is so, so confused. He wants to reach out and caress Jisung's cheek, but at the same time he's fighting the urge to run away. 

Jisung breaks eye contact and shoves a few more bites into his mouth. The cheesecake is almost gone. "I've been coming here a lot," he says with his mouth full. Minho watches him swallow, watches his throat bob, and he can't look away. "Ever since you brought me cake that day."

"Why?" It's a safe, neutral response. 

"Because… I wanted to see you."

The words are like a knife, twisting in Minho's stomach. "Why?" he asks, again. 

Now Jisung looks at Minho like he's speaking a foreign language. "I— what? Because… Minho, I _kissed_ you. What else—"

"Yeah, you did. And then you had another guy over like three days later."

"Another guy…?" Jisung's brow creases in genuine confusion, and for the first time the thought crosses Minho's mind that he might have been wrong.

"Oh, do you mean— like the other day? When you brought me coffee?"

Minho nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Jisung runs his hands through his hair and slumps down in his chair, letting out a puff of air through his nose. "That was Chan. He's my best friend."

"Your best friend," Minho repeats, deadpan. A giant wave of shame and regret washes over him.

"We make music together. Like, for SoundCloud? We stay up pretty late, so he crashes at my place a lot."

"But he— he was wearing your hoodie…"

That makes Jisung laugh. "Yeah, I spilled hot chocolate on his, so he borrowed it."

Minho just sips his coffee, giving himself time to think. Except the only thought going through his head is, _you idiot._

"You thought I— you thought I was dating him, or something."

Minho closes his eyes. He can't look Jisung in the face. "Yeah," he breathes. 

They sit there for a moment, the silence heavy between them. Minho doesn't know what Jisung is thinking— but he _wants_ to.

"I'm sorry," he says at least. "I should have just… talked to you."

And then all of a sudden Jisung is laughing. He's laughing so hard he doubles over in his chair, clutching at his stomach, cheeks flushed. 

"What's so funny?"

Jisung calms to giggles, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "This. Us. I don't even know your last name, but we're sitting here like we're six episodes into a k-drama, having a heart-to-heart."

And he's right. They're ridiculous. So Minho starts laughing too, and before long they're both out of breath, faces flushed, smiles lingering on their faces.

"So," Minho says, and now the silence that falls between them isn't heavy and oppressive— it's comforting. 

"So," Jisung repeats.

Minho clears his throat. "I, um. I don't think I got to introduce you to my cats last time you came over. Which is a crime, because they're my favorite people. So, like… maybe you should come over again. If you want." 

Jisung bites his lip, but it doesn't look worried this time. Now it looks mischievous, and Minho could get drunk on the way it makes him feel. 

"I mean, I have come here like almost every day hoping to run into you. So… yeah. I want to."

Behind the register, the mother and daughter are pointing and giggling at them. But Minho doesn't notice. All he can see is the sparkle in Jisung's eyes; the happiness written all over his face. He knows he looks the same way.

"It's a date."

**cutie crew (3)**

11:24 AM

 **leeminnope** : I'm in love

 **leeminnope:** ok love is a little strong. But he consented to nachos, beer and board game date with my cats. 

**leeminnope:** keeper.

**EPILOGUE**

The sun is shining in through the windows— except they're not the windows he's used to waking up with. There's no Soonie at the foot of the bed, and no Doongie howling for him to wake up and make breakfast. 

He stretches, letting himself bask in the sunlight. It's starting to get chilly, so he pulls the sheets up to his chest. He likes the unfamiliar feel of them against his skin.

Something catches his eye: a shapeless black lump of clothing thrown over the back of a chair, orange flames just barely peeking out from the folds. He throws back the covers, shivering, and makes his way over to the chair.

He pulls the hoodie over his head. It smells like coffee and laundry detergent— the scent he's come to associate with Jisung. The Thrasher logo stands out bright and orange when he glances at himself in the mirror. 

"Hey," he says, slipping back into bed. "Can I borrow this?" 

Jisung just rolls over and pulls him in close. "It's yours."

Minho smiles to himself. This isn't what he pictured when he first saw that tiny, struggling stranger, drenched in the summer rain. It's not what he imagined at all.

It's better.


End file.
